


Things Have Changed (Part Two)

by TheMarkOfEyghon



Series: Once More With Glitter [16]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: F/M, Fake Marriage with no happy ending, Giles deals with jealousy, Jenny is the only person with critical thinking skills, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-04
Updated: 2019-09-04
Packaged: 2020-10-09 22:27:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20517434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheMarkOfEyghon/pseuds/TheMarkOfEyghon
Summary: “Well, they just met this morning. And I don't know that much about marriage, but I assume it's a process that takes longer than an hour.” Jenny stares at him, forehead creased, somehow still surprised that he's not getting it.ORJenny is the only person in this town with any critical thinking skills.





	Things Have Changed (Part Two)

“Too right.” Deacon says, relaxing his grip on Randall. He turns his head, taken by the moment, and kisses Randall's temple. “We, of course, appreciate the gesture. But it's not necessary - we're new to Sunnydale, after all. Should probably settle in and get to know the area.”

Jenny almost feels like she's having an aneurysm, and not the funny kind, because everything coming from everyone's mouths has stopped making sense.

Deacon had jumped in with accusations of knowing Jenny had been eavesdropping... and then the conversation had only gotten weirder.

This was Randall, the old friend who Rupert thought was dead, but wasn't really?

And Deacon was his husband, who Rupert evidently didn't know about?

If this gets anymore cryptic, she's going to need one of those cereal box decoder rings just to carry on a conversation. But she doesn't say any of that out loud. Instead, she says, “New to Sunnydale? Oh, of course. Well, it seems like you all have catching up to do. Why don't Rupert and I show you the sights, sometime? We can make an evening out of it.

Giles turns to stare at Jenny with all the horror in his eyes of a man witnessing a massacre and knowing he's next. Quickly, before she can notice his expression, he regains his composure and hides his clenched fist in his pocket. He musters up a weak smile, made all the less convincing by the ashen tone of his skin, and casually drapes his free arm around Jenny's shoulders.

“That...certainly...sounds like...an activity...which one might plan...should one choose to…”

‘There is no God.’ Randall's never really believed in the idea of a kind, grandfatherly man in the sky who loved all of his "children" without reservation; not with all the death and disease and pain that humans had to deal with, as a whole, let alone what he's had to deal with in a lifetime, and Catholicism was really only a habit he indulged in for his mother and then for the comfort of routine. But he's never been a bigger atheist than he is in this moment.

Because if there was a god, he wouldn't be standing there in the awkward, half-embrace of a man who was literally sent to continue torturing him into submission, staring down his old friend and ex...something while he embraced his, uh, Jenny.

And even though he has no right to know, he wonders if she's his girlfriend.

And then he wonders why that bothers him like it does.

If there was a God - a kind, benevolent, loving God - then he wouldn't have to be asking himself these questions.

But he is, so clearly there isn't.

“Yeah, that sounds like a thing.”

A terrible, horrible fucking thing. But he can't say that out loud. No matter how badly he wants to. And he can't say no, because that would draw in too many questions. He can only hope that Deacon will firmly, but politely, shut the idea down. Maybe think it's a waste of time. Randall would take nights spent being put under extreme stress to try and force the demon to work through him than a night put under extreme stress trying to force small talk out of him.

But Deacon isn’t in the position to be anyone’s hero, least of all Randall’s.

Truth be told, he wasn’t sure of the cover that Ronald had told him he’d be taking and his confidence in the plan hadn’t been built up by Randall’s reaction to it - he’d been so upset, and none of Deacon’s reasoning seemed to be enough to help - but he was starting to see the genius of both the cover and the decision not to let anyone else in on it. He was standing in a very precarious but rewarding position, here… close enough to Randall to keep an eye on him and his power to bind him and guide him as necessary, but also close enough to learn more about the Watcher and the other people associated with the Slayer.

By their own invitation, it seemed. This couldn’t be easier.

“Well, of course, we’d love that.” Deacon said, as sincerely as he could muster. “I’d love that, especially. It’ll be nice to get to know someone who knew Randall so long ago… and, of course, as we’ll be seeing so much of each other, here, why not get to know one another? It’s a brilliant idea.”

He may be laying it on a little thick, but it’s better than being too thin and letting them see his hand before he’s ready to play it.

“Well, I've got a pretty flexible schedule...Rupert?” Jenny turns her head...and tries not to notice how ashen he's become. “When will work for you? The sooner the better? I know you must really want to catch up with your friend.”

‘How about the fifth of never? Does that work for you, Declan? Also, would you be so kind as to die in a fire?’ The thought crosses Giles' mind and almost makes it past his lips. Almost. “Er...I, ah, could probably clear my schedule for...ah, tonight? If that's alright?”

He looks to Jenny for confirmation of both the spoken suggestion, and that he didn't actually verbalize his initial reaction.

“Tonight works for me!”Jenny's cheery smile almost hurts her face and it takes all of her self-control not to give Rupert too meaningful of a glance. Her expression softens when she directs her gaze to Randall, who seems to have frozen in place. “...What about you, Randall? You free tonight?”

Randall laughs.

He doesn't mean to. It just sort of slips out. It's a sharp sound, edging on hysteria. Oh, god, if she had any idea how funny that was - he hadn't been "free" in fifteen years. And the outlook is that he never will be.

It'll always be something else.

Someone else. He gets the most chilling sense of Déjà vu and looks down at his left hand. Eyes not drawn to the ring, this time, but to the smattering of pale scars that are visible on his hands, left from all the “tests” that Ronald put him through.

And he laughs again.

He’s right back where he started. So much for personal growth.

He feels a shift under his skin - the hum of the Sleepwalker, annoyed by his stress. Urging him to give into the power and fall back into the high. But he's not in the mood.

Instead, he looks at Deacon. His smile isn't friendly.

“I dunno. Am I free?”

Deacon doesn't miss the ice in Randall's voice and his hand twitches to his pocket, where the switch is, ready to activate the ring if it seems like Randall is losing it, but his eyes are still dark and human. He relaxes. “Tonight works just fine for us. Say, ‘round seven? Until then, I am afraid that we need to be off. Have quite a lot of settling in to do.”

“Yes, yes, I'm sure you do...and I really must return to my work. So nice of you...two to, ah, pop in.” His fate sealed, Giles seeks refuge in his stiff upper lip and his research. He removes his arm from around Jenny to better shuffle through books and papers. “Til seven.”

Randall opens his mouth to say something or maybe just to laugh again, but his life is just so ridiculous, but Deacon's fingers are already digging into his arm and he's being dragged out before he can think of something to say.

The doors swing shut behind them before he can even think to close his mouth again.

* * *

Jenny gives it a minute.

Just long enough to be sure that they're really gone, before she turns to look back at Rupert, who seems to be going out of his way to look at anything but her.

She tries not to let that phase her.

“Ok. So, we have until seven to figure out what the hell we’re going to do about that.”

She assumes they’re on the same page; doesn’t even consider that she might be wrong.

Giles tries to pay attention to the papers he's sorting, but the words blur as shock turns to anger.

“We're going to hope that an apocalypse rises by six-thirty, tonight. That's what I'm going to do. Bloody married...think that might be something one would mention whilst catching up...and to that...that...human personification of a bloody Pomeranian!” Giles picks up a stack of books at one end of the table and slams them down on the other end, accomplishing a sum total of naught. “Why, what did you have in mind, frappuchinos at the Pump?”

“...Pomeranian?” Jenny repeats, her lips quirking with amusement. But the humour dies down, quickly, when she realizes that he is, in fact, not on the same page as her, here.

It gives her a strange feeling in the pit of her stomach. Not necessarily unpleasant. Just...strange. The way he's acting, the way he's talking, the way he slams through his papers and the flush in his cheeks. If she didn't know any better, she might say he was... jealous.

“I wasn't talking about what we're going to do about the evening, itself. I was talking about what we're going to do about whatever is going on that involves Randall having to pretend to be married to that creep. Jenny folds her arms over her chest, looking back at the doors they'd disappeared out of. “I’m assuming it’s against his will, or at least his better judgment… he didn’t look happy at all, did he?”

“Yes, Pomeranian. One of those nasty, yippy little inbred - wait, what?”

An extremely fragile, rare book nearly tumbles out of Giles hands as his brain catches up to his ears. He gingerly sets the volume safely onto the desk before turning around and giving his full attention to Jenny, and stuttering like a Hugh Grant impersonator.

“You...he...doesn't look...hap- What do you mean pretending?”

“Well, they just met this morning. And I don't know that much about marriage, but I assume it's a process that takes longer than an hour.” Jenny stares at him, forehead creased, somehow still surprised that he's not getting it. “You don’t honestly think - Rupert, did you see the look on his face? I've seen cheerier men on the way to execution. Okay, no, not really. But I imagine there have been. I thought we both knew that there was something fishy going on? You said you were friends with him. Does this seem...like him?”

“Well...no, not at all, really...but it's been...a long time…” Giles removes his glasses to polish then thoughtfully, his cool, blue eyes nearly shining with chagrined relief. “I suppose I was too...shocked to think clearly...or at all, really…”

He replaces his glasses and goes to turn on the electric kettle.

“I've picked up some coffee, since you refuse to take tea…”

He holds up a brand, new jar of Taster's Choice instant coffee.

“What did you mean, they just met this morning?”

“You…” Jenny's expression softens at the inexplicably sweet gesture and it takes her a minute to get her head back on track. “Well...I was trying to tell you. I overheard some of their conversation. It didn't make a lot of sense to me. I guess I'm not really in on the Watcher lingo. But, I do know an introduction when I see one and that's what I saw Pomeranian-guy do this morning. And, let me tell ya, they didn't exactly hit it off…”

Jenny sighs, running her fingers through her hair. If she'd known it was going to be this important...

“He was playing the "good cop" from what I could see, but your friend just seemed... angry. And scared. They were trying to get him to agree to a job, saying something about his talents and that he didn't have anything else but this job going for him, anyway? I don't know. Like I said, they weren't speaking plainly and then they took off when they started to notice me listening. Clearly, whatever happened - whatever they said to get him on board? It happened then.”

Giles listens with rapt attention as Jenny sets the cards out on the table. So focused is he, that when the kettle chimes, he's nearly startled out of his skin. He turns to fix them each a cuppa, his mind racing in a futile attempt to sort, label, and analyze the wild tumble of emotions rising from his gut before he finishes stirring in the sugar.

He gives up, and shoves all his feelings into a tidy little box, and stuffs that tidy little box onto a high shelf in his mind. Without compartmentalization, he'd never have been able to function as well as he has, for as long as he has.

Giles turns back to Jenny, and hands her a mug of coffee.

“Well. Seems like our, er, "double date" tonight might not be completely awful, after all…”

Giles grins and lifts his cup of tea in a toast.

“Well, I wouldn't go that far. We'll probably still have to make small talk. Comment on the Weather and how our days were. You know, adult conversation.” Jenny says, with a faint grin, as she takes her cup of coffee. She sips and smiles wider with satisfaction. But the happy expression doesn't stay long. It's replaced by something thoughtful.

“So, you and Randall. Was it good?”

Giles manages to swallow the tea he just sipped, instead of spitting it out all over both Jenny and his books. He does not manage to swallow it properly, however, and sets his cup down as he coughs and splutters.

“I'm...sorry, what?!”

“Uh... last night? And this morning too, I guess. The reuniting part of the whole thing? You said you hadn't seen him in - that you thought he was dead? I was just wondering if the conversation was okay?” She leans forward, concerned when it seems like he's having a hard time breathing. “Are you okay?”

“Yes, yes...fine...air is so overrated…”

Giles manages to catch a breath, which sets off more coughing, creating a vicious cycle that takes several, painfully long moments to resolve. Finally, he clears his throat.

“The conversation was...rather I indescribable. I...never, in my wildest dreams, imagined seeing him again, let alone having a catch-up chat, so... Indescribable.”

Jenny sits back, again, taking another sip of her coffee before she takes a glance at the clock and jumps to her feet, nearly spilling coffee all over herself.

“Shit! I have to get ready for first period. I'm sorry - lost track of time."

"Oh, yes, right..." Giles busies himself by rescuing Jenny's half-full cup and retrieving the stack of her books he'd accidentally covered with his own papers whilst fuming over faux husbands. He hands over her books with a soft smile. "So." 

"Buttons." Jenny smiles, gently, balancing her books and her coffee in one arm and reaching out with her free hand to grasp his arm, smoothing her fingers against tweed. "It'll be okay. We will figure out what the con is, here, and then we'll deal with it. Just like always."

Giles feels like he can breathe again, for how long he has no idea, and smiles at the old joke. He tilts his head to lightly press his forehead against hers.

"You are a rare one indeed, Jenny Calendar. Thank you."

"Don't worry. Someday, Technopagans will border on trendy. But, for now..." She tilts her head up and ever so gently brushes her mouth against his and murmurs - "...I'll see you after class."

His breath catches at her lightest of kisses, and his lips curl in a smile...until a feeling of guilt crashes through the momentary serenity, and he pulls away abruptly. He forces another smile as he steps back, and picks up a book as if it were some shield, something to protect him from all these messy emotions throwing his somewhat orderly life into utter chaos.

"Yes, after class. This afternoon. I'll see you. Too."

Is it just her, or was his retreat a little bit less about propriety and a little more... well, she can't put the exact word to it but decides to chalk it up to the evening that they're now staring down, smiling with as much reassurance as she can.

"You will." She promises, quietly. She almost reaches out for him again... but class really does call and she has to make a hasty retreat instead.

Once the door closes behind Jenny, Giles collapses into his chair. A sound not unlike a sob rips from his lips, echoing in the otherwise silent room before he can reassert his iron control once more.

He picks up his cup of tea and sips before realizing it's gone disgustingly cold.

His lips pressed together in a tight line, he rises to make a fresh cup before buckling down to research the Fae.

8 hours until he sees Randall again.


End file.
